Recollared
by she smiled like a knife
Summary: James Kirk is a run away collared sub, a high crime in this dystopian society. Leonard McCoy is a recent unattached dom who somehow ends up responsible for the kid now. Oh then there's the fact Jim's the secret malefactor whose responsible for organizing the sub rights revolt.
1. Prologue

**Warnings**: possible triggers include: domestic violence/non-con sex. referenced underage non-con sex. sub!slavery realism (sadly some doms are more severe than others). societal prejudice. My god, just don't read this fic if any of the above bother you. Don't worry, the McKirk is fully consensual ;)

* * *

**Prologue**

The drink is set in front of him by the bartender, a cute sub with curls of blonde hair and a large chest. Her neck is undeniably bare and she lingers longer than he'd like, no doubt noticing his left wrist is bare as well. It fails to flatter him however, instead it further accentuates why he's here in the first place. He dismisses her with a wave and she scurries off. He gazes into the dark depths of the bourdon, and runs his tongue over his bottom lip. Swallowing, his throat feels like sandpaper, and he knows there's only one thing that will soothe it.

His fingers close around the cool glass, the condensation moist against his skin. The alcohol slips steadily and smoothly down his throat, settling warmly in his gut. He smiles as he puts the glass back down, but it soon slips off his face. It's too painful to smile anymore. Even the thought of it makes him feel nauseous.

Leonard McCoy, for the first time in five years, is a dom without a sub. Worse, his sub had cheated on him, which was one of the highest criminal felonies in the state of Georgia. By law he could have placed her in heavy reprimand, took away all her freedom and confined her to a dungeon, and nobody would've blinked an eye. But he's a doctor first, a dom second, and both conflicted when he found out she was pregnant. So instead he let her go, willingly and without consequence to his childhood rival, Clay Treadway and said good riddance. He boarded the first bus out of Savannah and winded up here in some podunk town in Iowa. He didn't want the scandal to get out, he didn't want to deal with it anymore than he had to, and the easiest solution was to just run away, as if he had been the culprit.

All he wanted now was peace and quiet and his bourbon.

Instead he gets some young kid who swaggers in, deciding of all the places to sit in an nearly empty bar, is next to him. "You look like someone just walked over your grave, man."

Leonard glances over, seeing said kid looks older than he sounds. First thing he picks up on is the boy's bare neck, but the faint tan line still remains. He's devastatingly handsome, with those alluring interesting shade of blue eyes and sun-kissed hair and pink lips. The only feature that takes away from his looks are the circles underneath his eyes and swollen mouth. Split lip and a blossoming bruise along his jawline. Interesting. A recent uncollared sub was societal suicide and yet the kid wasn't hiding away until the evidence disappeared, or even trying to conceal it.

"Ever heard of a tissue regenerator, kid?" he grunts.

Instead of averting his eyes downward like any respectful sub _should_, the kid has the audacity to look him straight in the eyes as he answers, "I'm not ashamed of my status. Those laws are out-dated and sad. If a dom loses his sub," his eyes stare pointedly at McCoy's naked wrists, "then subs line themselves up at him or her. Yet if a sub becomes unattached, he or she is suddenly shunned from society."

"Look, I don't give two cents about societal laws. But walking around looking like someone just beat you up is enough to make anyone uncomfortable. Are you trying to be a walking charity case?"

Kid grins jauntily. "Maybe. Sympathy can work in anyone's favor. So how about it?"

"How about what?" he snaps, putting his glass down hard it almost breaks.

"Have I earned your sympathy enough to buy me a drink?"

"You're a mouthy one, aren't you?" he admonishes. A sub with a spine. Some doms liked that he supposed, the resistance and the fight but he never did. Demure and pliant had been his favorite traits in Jocelyn...

Fuck.

"Sorry I don't go for pretty boys." With lips that no doubt would look good wrapped around him, he thinks, the thought unbidden.

"Name's Jim, Jim Kirk by the way," the kid retorts, "and I never said you had to. But you're a dom, and I'm a sub, and well, I'm not asking for a collar or anything. But it sure beats unwanted celibacy."

Those words unwillingly bring up more images to mind. His eyes rake over the blonde's lithe frame. The kid, no - Jim - would certainly look enticing on his back, or his knees. Or maybe even astride his lap.

Leonard signals the bartender over. Jim smirks.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

Introductions are kept to a minimum. Jim gets his name and his profession, in return Jim tells him his safeword and age, the latter because Leonard demanded his real age, not the one on his identification card. He knew a counterfeit when he saw one, but he believed the kid when he answered twenty.

Jim crowds him against the door once they're inside the dingy hotel room. Under ideal circumstances, Leonard would be taking the lead on this, directing Jim to lay down on the couch so he could fuck his pretty throat or get on his knees and crawl to him. Instead he's much too inebriated, and he discovers he rather enjoys the brazen zest Jim exhibits in his ministrations, his teeth and tongue and lips providing an easy distraction.

"What do you want?" Jim asks between kisses, blue eyes darker with lust and Leonard can't stop twisting his hands in those blonde strands, tugging that plum bottom lip back between his teeth so he can bite down and mark him.

Jim moans prettily for him in response. Where Jocelyn had been dark-haired and fair-skinned, Jim is blonde and has freckles.

"I want to fuck your mouth," he answers.

Jim chuckles darkly. "Should've known-you stared a lot at my mouth this evening. Want me to choke on your cock?"

"So you'll shut up?' He growls, "_yes_."

With undoubtedly practiced ease, Jim swiftly undoes his belt, pulls down his pants and underwear, and kneels to engulf him.

Fuck, fuck. Jim swallows him down beautifully, not once coming back up to breathe and lets Leonard direct the pace, lets him cup the back of his skull and jerk his hips hard into his mouth. Jim moans around him, looking up at him with those wanton bright blue eyes that make Leonard feel like all Jim wants to do is sit back and be fed his cock. He can't remember the last time Jocelyn ever looked up that way at him, and he can't help but pound against the back of Jim's throat, letting the noises of Jim's choked, cut-off nonverbal responses, of pain, or pleasure, he doesn't care, wash over him.

All too soon he feels that familiar tingle building up from the base of his spine, alerting him of his impending release and he's torn between wanting to paint Jim's face with his come or let Jim swallow it all. It ends up being a bit of both, for once the first spray hits the back of his throat, Leonard unsteadily pulls out to finish, watching with a shuddering breath as he decorates Jim's forehead, cheeks, and the bridge of his nose with his ejaculate. Jim even licks the bottom of his lip to capture what he can, looking expectantly up at him, silently asking for permission on how to continue.

The fact that Jim is acting submissive now, instead of earlier in public like what is expected of him, turns Leonard on a lot more than it should.

"Undress, on the bed, face down," he commands, and instead of the insolent response he expects, Jim does so without preamble. His suspicions that Jim has freckles everywhere is confirmed, but the red blotches of lacerations littering his back tell him a different story.

Whipping as recreation was normal but judging by the mangled state of his back, he doubts Jim experienced any pleasure out of it.

"Jesus fuck, Jim," he swears, unable to help letting his hands methodically examine the wounds. "These can get infected, why haven't you been to a hospital?"

"Uh," Jim says.

"You ran away," Leonard surmises, and immediately the arousal has fled him: this boy is a wanted criminal. Going to the hospital was out of the question if his dom was out looking for him, every hospital would be on alert for a wayward sub fitting his description.

He goes back to fetch his discarded pants for his portable regenerator he always keeps in his pocket when suddenly Jim has hopped off the bed and is in front of him, blue eyes pleading.

"Leonard, please, I, I'll do _anything you want_," Jim pleads, "anything. I just needed a place to stay for the night. A sub on the street too long...you know how it is."

"You gambled," Leonard accuses, and Jim doesn't blink nor downcast his gaze.

"Whether you sold me out, or some dom eventually collared me against my will, I figured I should at least get some alcohol and a warm bed to sleep in for the night out of it," Jim admits, and unless he's a damn good actor, he looks remorseful, "took a calculated risk."

"You're a damn fool, Jim Kirk," Leonard says, and before Jim can stop him, he digs out his regenerator, and he's sure Jim's surprised it's not his communicator. "Sit down you idiot, I'm a doctor, remember? I'm not gonna call the authorities on you. You're hurt, and I'm going to fix you. Then we're going to sleep. If you wanna talk about it in the morning, then stay. If you don't, then leave without waking me up and I won't say a word."

Jim smiles at him, a real genuine smile and lays back down on the bed. Not exactly how Leonard envisioned the night going, but there was some comfort in the fact he wouldn't be sleeping alone tonight. Halfway in the night he wakes up to that wondrous mouth wrapped around his hardening cock, Jim between his splayed legs, suckling him with more enthusiasm than last time, if such a thing were possible. In that second he realizes he's no better than Clay Treadway, messing around with a collared sub. At least before he was ignorant, but now, now he's too damn aroused to stop. He grips the back of Jim's head and jerks his hips up, hard and fast and Jim slobbers a bit but doesn't stop him.

"Fuck, your mouth," he bites out once he's come down Jim's throat, an arm slung over his eyes. He's a dead man. Then without warning, Jim's clambering over on top of him, and it takes awhile for his eyes to adjust to the darkness to comprehend Jim is opening himself up in preparation for penetration.

"C'mon, might as well," Jim whispers, his tone low and he's already panting like he'll die if McCoy turns him down, "or you can just sit back and I'll do all the work. I'll fuck myself on your cock so you won't feel guilty." Guilty for what, he wants to ask. For fucking him or for fucking him while he's injured?

He wants to argue that's not how this works. Jim's a sub; he doesn't direct the shots but he's too horny to care. It feels too right to stop the dynamic they have going.

* * *

When McCoy thinks back on when it all started: he concludes it was roughly three months ago when there was an outbreak of uncollared subs who'd defied their parents pick for their first dom, where the subs had spoke of choice, of having the same option just like a dom had the choice to pick a sub. Just like every dom was expected to attend training and schooling, a sub's last educational instruction was being given to their first dom. Usually it was a family member, purely platonic (though McCoy knows in some states there still existed incest), just for the basics. Proper sub etiquette around a dom; when to respond when a friend of your dom addressed you, how to address a potential suitor, all the in and outs of becoming a proper sub in public society. Outbursts like that didn't ordinarily make it the media because it was all very normal, all teenagers experienced rebellion at some point. Just not a whole slew of them at once. He'd written it off as a singularly odd event that would die out just like all isolated events in the media did.

Maybe if he'd been home more instead of at work, he would've spotted these papers in Jocelyn's dresser drawers sooner that were filling her head with inane notions. Even if he had, he still would've not taken her accusations seriously. Silly teenage protests were childish and he expected more from a grown woman. Especially a high-born and debutante like Jocelyn Darnell. Well, just goes to show how stupid he was in believing that idealism.

* * *

Four days later, he wakes up with the sheets down to his ankles and a drooling Jim buried in the crook of his arm. It had been a surprise that Jim stayed after the first night, and stayed as long as he did. Usually the kid was gone before he woke up, yet always once it got dark, he came back. Though every time McCoy opened the door, he questioned why he was allowing it. He tells himself it's because Jim's still such a young kid, that roaming the streets at night for an uncollared sub was dangerous, though Leonard did wonder exactly what Jim could be doing during the day. Daytime for an uncollared sub certainly wasn't any better. Small towns like these were heavily judgmental when subs wandered around without supervision.

Besides, Jim was enjoyable company, other than for obvious trysts, the kid had an uncanny ability to fix things, always tweaking around on his laptop. Jim was an intellectual sub, which told Leonard his dom must've advocated schooling and teaching Jim. That revelation wasn't unusual. What was interesting was how easily Jim could decipher his medical books with such ease. On a whim one night he gives Jim an unofficial test. Jim laughs at him and asks if observing him take a test was some new kink. McCoy has to check the results twice to make sure there wasn't some computer error, but it's undeniable that Jim's IQ score is off the charts. If his assumption were correct, Jim's dom had to be pretty high on the caste level to afford to send a sub to proper schooling. He tells himself getting further involved would be futile at this point, but Jim deserved better. But he couldn't help Jim if he didn't know who he would have to wager with. High authorities had a lot of money, could easily outstake him on purchasing Jim but then again, high authorities wouldn't like it to be made public news their subs escaped and rather forfeit than face public humiliation.

He's pulled out of his musings of emotional blackmail when Jim makes a slight noise in his sleep, reminding McCoy how strange it was to share a bed with someone. Jocelyn and him had slept in different beds because his work schedule so often conflicted with her sleep schedule. Jim was eerily quiet and still asleep; so unlike his wakeful persona. It takes awhile for his sleep-laden brain to catch up and remember that the kid probably hadn't slept in an actual bed for days, possibly even weeks before they met.

He decides to order room service for breakfast and watches in concealed amusement as Jim slowly wakes up to the aroma of a hot meal, blue eyes looking up at him groggily before his lips quirk into a smile.

"You bought me breakfast?" Jim quips, yawning and stretching and Leonard wordlessly tosses his clothing at him so he can dress.

Jim kneels down beside him unexpectedly, and Leonard hides his shock what this implies. Feeding a sub was an ancient ritual dated back for centuries that had long been abandoned. It's strange that a boy as young as Jim would know such a decorum. Jim's tongue playfully catches Leonard's fingers with a lick or a slight suck here and there as he feeds off the food presented to him. It's oddly more intimate than he'd expected considering all they had done last night. Jim's eyes twinkle in amusement as Leonard responds so easily to his teasing tongue and too late Leonard realizes all the kid had been doing was coyly seducing him. Subsequently the table is used for other things than eating breakfast.

Jim doesn't say his safeword when Leonard ties him. He's precise and careful to leave enough slack so Jim could escape if he really wanted to. Instead he encourages McCoy to go harder, faster, deeper, giving off breathy nonverbal grunts as he's fucked on the table. It's then McCoy gets his first clue: the letters AK carved on Jim's right side, directly on the rib. It had to hurt, even though it was faded and healed, it had been a deep cut. He idly wonders how he could've missed it, but deduces this is the first time they've had sex in daylight, and the first time with Jim on his back after careful examination his back was fully healed (Leonard wasn't a complete sadist, he wouldn't chance Jim's wounds being reopened).

Showing ownership with a collar or a bracelet was simple: easy to put on and take off but marking a sub permanently in such a way was disconcerting to him. Not even McCoy felt comfortable with it though many Southerns did it with their collared subs. Subs weren't cattle you branded, and Leonard was raised by a loving dom and sub couple who taught him to cherish subs and treat them with human decency. Jim, probably sensing his distraction, brings his attention back by giving off the most delicious noises, and Leonard leans down, suddenly so turned on with the knowledge that Jim would probably, truly 'let him do anything', giving off so much trust so fast is daunting, and dangerous and fuck, the kid certainly knew how to seduce. Jim nods his consent when Leonard places his fingers around his neck, thankful for his medical knowledge that he knows how much pressure the cartoid atery can take before any irrevocable damage is done, and focuses on drawing out the pleasure.

Jim is pliant in his arms then, not so mouthy once he's had a good orgasm. He deposits Jim on the bed, checking his pupillary light reflex and pulse rate for any damage. Jim lazily smiles up at him, still high off the endorphins.

Of course, he's hoping to use this to his advantage on extracting information.

"The initials on your ribcage," he starts, feeling Jim's body stiffen, "your dom's initials?"

"He's not my dom," Jim answers obliquely.

"Jim - "

"You don't mark someone who's not your sub," Leonard argues, already exasperated, "Jim, you don't have to carry his mark anymore. I get it; you ran away. But scars can be removed. You're a smart kid, I don't doubt you could've lied your way to get it done."

"Maybe I wanted it, as a reminder," Jim answers quietly, and Leonard waits for an elaboration, but doesn't get one so he doesn't push.

"Either way kid, your dom is still out there, and collar or not, you're still his sub until he says otherwise."

Jim's dopey expression quickly becomes agigated. "I'm a person, not property. You mean to tell me, even though your sub was having another man's baby, technically she and the baby would still have been your property?"

He has to clench hands into fists to prevent himself from doing something he regretted. "Don't you _dare_ bring my life into this. Yes, Jim, technically, _legally_, I could've had her abort the damn abomination and she wouldn't have had a say in the matter. That's just how it is. "

Jim's lips thin. "I'm glad you didn't. It shows you have a sense of humanity. It's a rare trait in a dom. Most doms would've killed their sub for an act of transgression like that."

It's odd to hear the compliment, for he doubts any other dom nor sub would've thought that. They would've told him he was too soft, not a proper strict dom, a disgrace if he couldn't keep his sub out of another dom's bed without his explicit permission.

Instead he veers the conversation back to Jim. The kid certainly had a gift of throwing things off tangent. He wasn't going to fall for it.

"Your dom, Jim."

"Look, it doesn't matter. He's not gonna kill you or anything for fucking me. He never minded sharing before," Jim laughs bitterly. "He'd probably thank you. He always commented I was too insatiable for him. A terrible, ugly trait in a sub. We're suppose to be happy with whatever our dom deems fit to bestow upon us."

"You will tell me who your dom is or I swear to God I am confining you to my quarters, Jim Kirk," he bellows, his hand reaching for the boy's thin wrists. "Now."

Jim tugs his wrists away, his face turning red in fury. "You may be a dom, but you're _not_ my dom. I'm not wearing your collar so you can stop with the pseudo power trip. I told you when we met, I'm not interested in your collar. If you don't like that, then we can just split ways right now."

"Fine," he snaps, and is startled when Jim climbs off the bed on unsteady legs, tugging on his unkempt clothes.

"Goddamn it kid, you're still experiencing subspace, lay fucking down on the bed," he pushes the command into his voice, and for a split second, he sees Jim waver, clearly innately torn between following his order and erratically putting on his clothing. Before Leonard can stop him, Jim bows his head before turning his back and walking out the room.

Jim sure did pick the weirdest moments to show respect.


End file.
